Mom must not visit this row often.
Not that I can blame her. I haven’t wanted to come down here either.
I slow my pace and read the labels on the sides of each box, trying to guess which one would have the cameras and lenses. The handwriting has been smeared and caked in dirt through the years, so I have to pull several boxes out to peer inside.
There are a few boxes of his old clothes, some of his favorite books, and even his record collection. My heart lifts when I see the labels. Mom used to hate that record player. Said it took up half the living room, but now it sits untouched in the corner. She hasn’t been able to part with it.
I sift through another box, pushing aside folded maps and worn travel brochures from places we visited together. Then I see a familiar red box near the bottom, and I freeze.
I know that box as well as the back of my own hand. I thought it was gone forever.
Kneeling, I run my thumb along a small tear in the corner. That must’ve happened when I threw it into the garbage. It wasn’t there before. I had been so angry back then, so full of grief, that the smallest things sent me spiraling. Even this.
It once meant everything to me.
I lift it carefully. A faint whiff of Dad’s earthy scent rises, and tears sting instantly. My wolf cries out inside me, raw and wounded.
I blow the dust off the lid, revealing the painted forest and sunrise. Mom painted it after I declared this box the “official” storage place for my most important treasure.
Inside, two dozen wooden figurines sit neatly in rows, waiting for six-year-old me to pick them up again. I take one, tracing the delicate carving marks with my fingertip.
Dad used to take me for long walks in the woods, teaching me about pack strategy and what real leadership looked like—encouragement, not domination. He wanted to make sure I could protect Mom and Ivy if anything ever happened to him.
And thank the moon he did. Look at us now.
I hope I make you proud, Dad.
After every walk, he’d carve a new figure. Each one holds a memory. A lesson. Now, they hold a piece of him.
How could I have thrown these away?
They were the most precious things I owned.
“I remember those.”
I jump at my sister’s voice, nearly dropping the box. “Moons above, Ivy. Where did you come from?”
“Sorry.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Mom sent me. Said you’ve been down here a while.”
She crouches beside me, gaze softening at the wooden figurines. “I still have the birds he carved for me. They’re on my bookshelf.”
“I thought I lost these.” My throat tightens. “I… threw them out after he died. I was so angry someone had taken him from us, and it just… hurt seeing them all the time.”
Ivy brushes her hand gently through my hair, like she used to when we were little. “Oh, Ro, yeah. I remember.” Her eyes flick to the stack of records beside me and go huge. “Are those Dad’s vinyls?”
“Yeah.”
“I always wondered where they went!” She’s already flipping through them, her excitement brightening the entire room. “Jazzy Grace? River Upturn? Stop—these need to go upstairs. Like right now!”
“Mom will kill you if you play them.”
“Then I’ll haunt her through the speaker. They don’t deserve to hide down here.” She grins, reading the back of one. “So what are you doing down here, anyway?”
Her question pulls me back to the reason I came. I glance around the shelves. Right. The cameras.
“I was looking for Dad’s cameras.”
Ivy stills, eyes widening. “You were?”
